Going Down with Your Ship
by DarkestWolfx
Summary: You could never know for certain. Some days took a bigger toll. Some days you had to be prepared for the falls he possibility you might go down with your ship. Because if you go up, you have to come down. Spoilers for 'Long Haul' S2E22, (25/11/17).


I don't often write for Virgil (internal dialogue I mean, as I do use his character a lot), and this was the perfect opportunity. Enjoy.

* * *

They say a good captain always goes down with his ship.

They say a true friend always stays at your side.

Come what may.

* * *

He knew where Scott was coming from.

 _"Virgil, you guys have to bail out in the pod. Eject, now."_

And he knew what Scott had assumed his meaning was.

 _"Negative, Scott. Can't do it."_

And it was his meaning.

 _"We can build another Thunderbird Two. We can't rebuild you."_

He knew that. He understood that.

 _We can't rebuild Dad; s_ o International Rescue was all they have.

He wasn't trying to kill himself. He didn't want to kill anyone else either. The coolant system wasn't just an excuse, it was of course true, however it helped to cover his main reason, because knowing that was _it_ would have hurt Scott more.

He closed his eyes and hoped. He placed his bets on the life he'd come to know.

Thunderbird Two was alive.

Her engine was roaring and battering under the strain, and he couldn't deny that he felt it too. It was ache in his heart, a twang that ran out through his veins until everything felt numb.

His hearing was gone, buzzing and ringing. His eyes felt heavy with no remaining energy, a complete aversion to the burning light obstructing his vision.

His head spoke out the logic, the things he didn't want to think. The back of his mind nagged that there had to be a chance: the _impossible_ wasn't to be _feared._

His heart cried for his brothers;

 _"Virgil, I'm coming for you."_

 _"There's no time Alan."_

Who'd always be left, waiting on the other side.

The other beating half thought of the ship he might have to leave broken up in space time.

He had little thought to spare.

He had too much on his mind to be fair.

 _Thunderbird Two could make it._

 _She made it to space with him._

 _Why couldn't she make it back?_

 _If the green carrier ship could defy the odds once, why not once more._

 _Why couldn't this be another possible impossible?_

 _She'd already done it once._

 _Thunderbird Two could make it._

For him. _For him,_ she would.

He knew it.

 _He knew it._

He _believed_ it.

Or, he wanted to.

He had to.

He'd believed before, and Two would always pull through, rise to the challenge.

It was a challenge to have faith, but something he had to do.

He tried. He really tried.

He never doubted his ship.

He doubted himself.

He began to doubt the logistics.

You could say it was Conrad, who saved both him and Thunderbird Two.

He didn't even try to claim otherwise. There was no point.

The point was, that Two had still made it.

Whether it was with help or no, she stayed strong, in one piece she made it.

With him, in one piece, she made it.

And after a while taking a bath - he'd still give her another thorough clean when they returned to the Island - she made it home too.

She brought him home.

And sometimes you have to laugh so as not to cry.

Had you asked him this morning, he couldn't have told you anything like what this day would turn out to be.

He couldn't say he hadn't been thrilled with the opportunity: he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at all scared.

He couldn't contain his excitement, that was most likely (overly) clear.

He knew he'd make it: he believed in his ship.

He'd let all that drive him, forgetting the 'chance' it was he was taking, forgetting that he had to come _back_ as well as _go._

He'd forgotten that part.

He'd forgotten what went up had to come down.

And down they went. And had it been that _down_ was really the end - regardless of the coolant system - then he would have crashed and burned alongside her.

He supposed, any one of them would think that immediately, considering they were more than simply _their_ ship.

Yes, they could be rebuilt.

It wouldn't be the same.

No, they couldn't be rebuilt.

But there would have to come a day.

He'd wondered if today was that day, but Two survived, and he along with her.

They were all glad about that, yes, but he was _ecstatic._

He loved the days when they could do it all, when they could be invincible.

Forgetting, of course, that moment where he truly felt he was _gone._

The moment he wondered whether Two did just have to put down. Whether he could jump ship and save himself. Whether this was the way he died.

Yes, it was someone else's brilliant thinking which saved them, but it was also the beautiful green ship who carried them, playing a hand in that equation.

And every ship had a captain, a pilot, someone to which it trusted themselves.

He trusted Thunderbird Two.

He believed in the ship Dad had given him.

A parting gift.

A legacy in name.

A legacy of sons.

A purpose.

He believed in what Dad stood for.

He treasured Thunderbird Two.

For all those reasons, and many more.

Yet still, he knew.

It was humanising. An experience like that. Alan did it often, John _lived_ there for goodness sake. His brother's risked that trip every time (yes, a reduced risk because they used designed for space equipment), but still all it took was one thing to happen. One thing to change a perfect state of play.

He saw that. He _knew_ it now.

He didn't want to let it stop him. Space was a Dad's... It was hard to work out anymore where it came on the list of loves. What had started out near the top had fallen to the rise of his family, though Virgil knew Jeff Tracy wouldn't have had it any other way.

He'd go again. Just, maybe in Thunderbird Three. As much as he hated travelling in anything other than Two.

She was just... Well, a different kettle of fish, to use Gordon terminology. He knew every control, every switch, every _inch_ of that ship by touch. He could travel blindfolded through her layout, and pilot her perfectly without sight. It was intuitive, instinctive now. He could do it in his sleep. Everything was mapped out in his head, known, never foreign.

Today. Today felt _foreign._

Why? That was his question. When it was _his_ ship. It wasn't like he'd be elect in charge of Thunderbird Three.

He supposed it was because he froze, because he realised what _could_ happen. He let that take control, to the point that he couldn't think of any sane ideas to save them. He wasn't alone, but that wasn't enough to return his mind to him.

For a ship he knew like the back of his hand, he let himself become dazzled and distracted.

 _And it nearly cost us all._

He tried not to think about the _nearly'_ s and _could have been_ 's.

He had no idea what one day _might be,_ but he did know one thing for certain which always _would be._

* * *

He was captain of Thunderbird Two.

Thunderbird Two was his friend.

So that was the way it would be.

Come what may.


End file.
